


Duties

by Blink23



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Accidental Royals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And George's mother being terrible about them, Domestic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Suicide, Not really though, basically middle school kids being assholes, mentions of islamophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8397334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink23/pseuds/Blink23
Summary: George was all of eight when his family decided he was to be kept in the shadows for his own protection. Though he hated it at the time, the insistence he be kept out of the public eye had been more of a gift than he could imagine. At 18 he left for America, settled down, and figured that would be the end of it.Then his grandfather died, everything went to hell, and he and Sam suddenly found themselves King and Prince Consort of the United Kingdom.





	1. Chapter 1

“Charlotte! You’re going to be late!”

George sighed for what felt like the thousandth time, hurriedly packing their lunches and backpacks. Usually he would make them do it, but at this point if they managed to leave within the next few minutes they would have just enough time to not miss the bus.

“Should’ve given me a little brother. Girls take up way too much time.”

“Fredrick Augustus...”

“Ugh, don’t use my full name, it’s the worst.”

“It’s a family name. And don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Freddie rolled his eyes, but swallowed his mouth full of toast. “Your family’s dead, dad. I mean mostly. Aunt Louisa doesn’t count.”

“You could’ve been named George William Frederick Hanover the fourth, like your father wanted. You should be happy with what you have.”

Finally Charlotte came bounding down the stairs, her hair in braided pigtails and her kitbag thrown over her shoulder. She grabbed her backpack and a granola bar from the island counter, tugged George down by the front of his shirt to kiss his cheek goodbye, and bounded out of the room towards the mudroom to put her shoes on.

“C’mon Freddie, we’re gonna be late!”

Freddie shoved the last of his toast into his mouth, hopping off his stool and taking his bag from his father. He hugged him around the waist, too old for kisses at 11, and followed his sister, George trailing behind them.

“Charlotte remember that Erin’s mother is going to be bringing you home from football.”

“It’s soccer, daddy!”

“I’m from the UK, I can bloody well call it football if I want. And when is play practice done?”

“Seven,” Freddie supplied, slipping his feet into a pair of combat boots, “unless me and the guys have to clean up. Then probably more like seven-thirty.”

“Call me and let me know, will you? Me or your father can get you if I need to.”

Freddie nodded, “I might hang out and watch baseball practice too, then Mitch’s mom can probably give me a ride home after at eight, but I’ll call.”

Charlotte cackled, “Oooh, Freddie, are you going to watch your boooooyfriend?”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

He watched as he chased his sister out the door, the both of them running out across the side yard and to the corner to catch the bus. He returned to the kitchen to attempt to clean up a little; the room had been in a semi-constant state of renovation over the last two months and he knew it was hopeless, as much as he tried. He was glad the construction half of it would be completed in a few weeks, and reminded himself to call the carpenter to check since he wasn’t due at the lab that day.

He glanced at the clock once he was finished, trying to figure out if he could get a run in before Sam got home from his night shift. He had maybe twenty minutes tops, so it seemed unlikely. He could probably do it after Sam got home, when he took his nap, and then they could go deal with picking out tile.

There was a knock on the front door, and George sighed, rolling his eyes. Sam was too polite to the Mormon missionaries that lived a few blocks down, and would constantly bring their newest recruits to their house to break them in.

The second he opened the door he’s pushed back by two men in suits, one pinning him to the wall while the other made quick work of the ground floor of their house.

“We’re sorry, your majesty, but we must check the perimeter.”

George froze at the use of his title, fighting the urge to hyperventilate. Most people by now had forgotten his existence; he hadn’t been seen in public since he was a boy, before he was hospitalized the first time. There was only one reason to use it. 

“My mother is here.”

“Of course I am.”

He turned at the sound of her voice. She stood in the entrance of his home like something out of a nightmare. He knew she was visiting - the way stupid Americans were about the english royals made sure of that - but he had never thought she would seek him out. She hadn't on the other four royal delegations to this country she had been apart of. 

The Royal guard holding him back released him, seemingly getting the all clear, and he and his partner exited, snapping the front door closed.

“Hello, George Dear,” she said, perfectly pleasant, like it was just a week ago she last saw him, not close to twenty years. She looks poised as ever, hair, dress and makeup perfect, and George was suddenly aware of his own fraying Yale T-shirt and jeans that clung to his legs in a way that made him sure they belonged to Sam’s slighter frame.

“I’m sure you’d like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, that would be... delightful.”

He walked back from the entryway towards the kitchen, forcing himself to relax. He could almost feel the judgment coming off her in waves, and sure enough, when he turned back to her once they entered her lip was curled at the state of the kitchen. George just rolled his eyes, filling and turning on the electric kettle. “The cabinets are all being refaced, that’s why they’re missing the fronts.”

“Your pet project?”

“Sam’s, actually. He found this place when I was in school and he had just finished his nursing clinical and fell in love,” Even his mother’s presence couldn’t dampen the affection he felt swell up in his chest as he remembered how excited Sam was, even though the place was a hovel compared to their apartment in New Haven, “It was in a state then - they had been using the rooms as office spaces and had all but destroyed the original kitchen - but something built in the early 1800’s held far too much appeal for him.”

“So this is where your allowance goes, then.”

He grit his teeth, fumbling with the loose leaf tin and the tea infuser. Since he was a child she had done things like that to throw him, and he knew he shouldn’t fall for it. Really, calling his inheritance his allowance wasn’t even a blip on the scale of nastiest things she had ever said to him, anyway. 

When he looked up she was studying him in that placid way she had, not giving anything away. He knew she was judging everything, from they frayed collar of his shirt to what shades the blue samples they had painted on the wall were, and tried not to feel caged in by it. He suddenly remembered that he hadn’t taken his mood stabilizers that morning, and nearly swore out loud at the thought. He hadn’t had a episode in years - not since Charlotte was born - and the thought of her triggering one now made his hands clench the edge of the marble island.

“What do you want, Mother? Clearly you didn’t come just to ask after my husband’s hobbies, since you refused to acknowledge my family’s existence.”

She at least had the decency to flinch at that.

“Your grandfather is sick, George.”

“And that means what, exactly? The last time I saw him he hurled a vase at my head and called me a dirty pansy. Augusta is next in line for the throne.”

The kettle beeped and he went to retrieve it, anything to keep his hands busy. She watched him move about his kitchen, just waiting for her opportunity to pull the trigger.

“Your sister has decided to take Charles up on his proposal. She can't be Queen of two countries.”

George blinked, trying to keep his face blank though his heart had started to pound again. 

“So now it’s time to play doting mother to your mad as a hatter son. Since he is to be king.”

His mother scoffed, “Honestly, George. You always did have a flair for the dramatics, but do try to be serious for once in your life. This isn’t about you, this is about your country.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. After all these years, she intended to pull that?

“You isolated me as a child because I had a mental illness and no one knew how to handle it. You shipped me of once I was old enough for Eton, stuffed to the gills with pills but nothing else because heaven forbid someone would talk about you if I ended up in therapy. When father died you refused to even allow me to attend the funeral, and insisted I be packed away for my own protection and shoved Edward into the forefront, since he would listen to everything Mummy said. I came here for school under my German passport simply because you didn’t want to deal with me, and it was easier to pretend this way. When I told you I met a man you made me pick him or the title. I made that decision and yet you still wouldn’t let me abdicate because you would have to admit you had a gay son-”

“How was anyone to know if this wasn’t just some flight of fancy you had? You still don’t know-” 

“I did!” George snapped, furious, “I have known since I was a child. I knew the moment I met him that I was supposed to love him. I married him and have been with him for fourteen years. We had children together the second I could convince him it was a good idea. This isn’t some act of teenage rebellion. I’m not dying my hair black or smoking behind the groundskeeper’s shed. I’m a married man with children and a home.”

“Think of your children then. They are being denied something-”

George scoffed, “Really? You’re concerned with them now?”

“It is only normal a Grandmother be concerned--”

“Do you even know your granddaughter’s name?”

She looked taken aback at the question. He knew she couldn’t have answered; Louisa was the only one that had ever asked after him, and he doubted she had ever brought up the FaceTime sessions and birthday presents she sent to his family.

“George? Darling? Why are there cars- oh.”

The color drained out of Samuel’s face as he entered the kitchen from the mudroom. He had never met her, only seen her in photographs. She seemed to zero in on the same thing, her eyes narrowing in disgust as she looked him over. He suddenly realized how he must’ve looked; his exhaustion was surely clear on his face and he had been too lazy to change his scrub top before he left. Not proper attire to meet a Princess, to say the least, and even less so to meet your Mother in Law.

George ignored her, stepping forward to kiss him hello.

“How was work, Darling?”

“Fine... Is there a reason your mother is in our house?”

“No,” - Sam didn’t miss the way her eyes narrowed at George - “She was just leaving. Goodbye, mother.” 

She bristled at the obvious dismissal. 

“This isn’t over, George. You’ll have to learn to deal with it sometime.”

She primly dropped down from the stool she was sitting on, letting herself out. She slammed the front door rather forcefully, making George deflate and Sam wince.

“She’s not used to being told no, is she?”

George shook his head, staring at where she was just sitting. Sam placed his hand over George’s, giving him a squeeze.

“George, did you take your medication?”

George shook his head no again, and Sam immediately went to the upstairs bathroom, dolling out the proper pills before returning downstairs. He took the pills easily, swallowing them down with the cup of tea he had prepared for his mother, before pulling Sam close, resting his chin on the top of his head.

“I hate that woman.”

Sam made a noise of agreement, running his hands up and down George’s back. “Not the best way I ever thought I could meet my mother-in-law, I admit.” 

“I wish you would’ve hit her, like I always intend to do if I were to ever run into yours.”

“George...”

George pulled away to grin at Sam, “Old woman would deserve it, Sammy.”

Sam sighed, not wanting to argue. He hadn't seen his mother in over a decade, and he was too tired after a night spent in the ward arguing with one of Laurens' patients after he called in sick and they refused to allow Angelica look their child over and a serious three car accident. All he wanted was sleep, and maybe something that wasn't cafeteria food, not to argue over a woman that didn't mean anything to him anymore.

“Come on. Why don’t we go back to bed for a nap? Then you can go for a run while I eat and we can go run to check on what we need after.”

George leaned down to kiss his nose. "Who am I to object to Mr. Hanover's fine ideas?"

Sam nodded, pulling away from George to make their way upstairs. They would have to talk about her appearance sooner rather than later, and what it all meant. If she wanted to see the children. If she wanted George to be a part of the family again.

But first, sleep. They had plenty of time to worry about that later.


	2. Chapter 2

_...It’s been just a month since Princess Augusta of Great Britain married Prince Charles William Ferdinand of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, and already the demand for her iconic, high necked cap sleeved gown has exceeded expectations. Of course it’s not the first time a Royal wedding gown has been copied within days; after the Marriage of Princess Diana and King Charles the third in 1764, it took only a week for..._

“Ugh, can you turn it off?” George made a face, “No one cares about this drivel.”

Peggy rolled her eyes, but did as she was asked, switching the TV in the break room the next channel up to some sports network prattling on about the upcoming Liverpool match, “Shouldn’t you care about your royal family? Aren’t you related to them anyway?”

“There isn’t any rule that says you have to care about the royals if you were born in Britain. And yeah, but it’s not a direct relation,” George easily lied, used to this discussion by now, “but it’s mostly on the German side, anyway. The Elector is a distant cousin.”

"Enough to get you an invite, though." 

"To be fair, the only reason I got one is because it would be impolite to allow royal blood to not be invited. It's all bloody protocol and politeness with the Germans."

Peggy giggled, rolling her eyes. George was glad she didn’t ask many questions past that. He felt horrible lying to her, sometimes, especially when they had known each other for years, but it was easier. Everything was easier when you were just old money from Europe with dead parents and a family who hated you for being gay. 

“How are Eliza and Alex? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Peggy shrugged, picking at her spinach salad. “Liza’s still pretty ‘meh’ on DC, but with Alex’s job and the kids it’s not like she could stay in New York.”

George shook his head, “I don’t blame her. That place is a hell hole. I looked into going to Georgetown and the smug networking arseholes were enough to make you sick.”

He ignored the part where his guide actually curtsied the minute he stepped on campus, like it was 1742.

Peggy looked amused. “You do know that you went to Yale, right? And we both work for the University? And you’re also one of the smuggest assholes I’ve ever met?”

“Yes, but that’s completely different. And research science isn’t glamorous, anyway. Just ask my kids how boring my job is, they’ll tell you.”

Peggy just rolled her eyes, stabbing a strawberry.

“How is Freddie’s play going, by the way? He’s playing Rolf, isn’t he?”

George nodded, “Still nervous about kissing a girl on stage, but he’s getting better. You know how it is...”

Peggy grinned, “I never had that problem, so no.”

George snorted, “Depraved bisexual, that’s what you are.”

“Oh wow, really? That’s what we’re going with? Especially considering you’re... you?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re on about, Darling.”

“I literally introduced you to your husband and the first words out of your mouth were ‘I’m totally gonna suck his dick.’ You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I didn’t though,” George couldn’t help the rather cheeky grin that found its way onto his face, “At least not that night.”

“Ah, well,” Peggy shrugged, “I'm sure Sam appreciated the sentiment. It’s the thought that counts, after all.”

 

When he returned home that night, it was to an empty house. 

Spring sports were just starting to pick up, so it wasn’t too surprising. Frederick was no doubt staying with friends after Track, as he tended to do on Fridays, and Charlotte’s club football team was probably practicing until seven.

His thoughts were confirmed when he walked into the kitchen to find ‘Freddie’s with the Michelson’s, Charlie’s sleeping by Margot’s after practice, be back by 6:30 xxx’ written in Sam’s messy cursive on their chalkboard wall.

George made his way into the living room and flopped down on their couch with a groan, stretching out comfortably. A half hour of lazing about with the TV on before Sam came home seemed like a good idea.

He flipped through the channels, nothing on at 6:04 on a Friday, until he landed on a ridiculous TV special titled ‘Augusta and Charles: The Total Story.’

With some hesitation, he left it on.

He had avoided most of it over the last month or so. It felt odd, watching it, recognizing faces that weren’t a part of his life anymore. Friends, schoolmates, distant relations and staff that had known him since birth, all of whom would walk by him on the street without a second look. Hell, they probably had; they took the kids on holiday to Germany last summer, and had been told the King Maximilian was in when on their tour of Nymphenburg. He had been present for George’s christening and every birthday party until Max hit 18 and was sent off to university, but he knows he wouldn’t have recognized him.

He was still there when Samuel got home, watching some designer talk in detail about how much he loved the light peach accents of her gown. Sam was shuffling around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, more than likely putting things away. George vaguely remembered him mentioning he was going to go to the market after he got done with his shift.

Sam wandered into the living room to kiss George’s cheek, his hair a mess and his eyes looking tired.

“I’m gonna go shower, I still smell like hospital. I figured we’d do Thai for dinner since the kids aren’t around?”

George hummed in agreement, “Want some company? I can do your back.”

Samuel snort was the only reply. 

Twenty minutes later Sam dumped down on top of him, his head on George’s chest and skin still damp from his shower. George’s laced his fingers over the small of Sam’s back as they watched his eldest sister exit the 1940’s jaguar on a loop, accompanied by a friend George vaguely recognized (Catherine? Carol?) who paused to fix the train of her gown as some overexcited TV host gushed about how many pearls were sewn into the veil. 

Sam sighed, a little dreamily, at the grandiose shot of her entering the church, and George kissed the top of his head. He thought of their wedding day, of how clammy Samuel’s hand was in his own, his knuckles white from holding his too tightly. It was a small ceremony, but he was infinitely more happy that way; it wasn’t bogged down with the need for formality.

“Would you have wanted something so big instead of what we had?”

“Why on earth would I want that? They don’t look like there having nearly as much fun as we did. I wouldn’t mind my own crown, though.”

George snorted, “You don’t want it. I wore the damn thing one once, when granddad was feeling particularly kind. The weight of it kills your neck.”

They cut to their first dance, and overelaborate waltz that the voice over said was from Charles’ home Duchy. He looked so stiff and uncomfortable, dancing with George’s sister, more concerned with how he looked outwardly than looking at his wife. 

George couldn’t keep his eyes off Sam when they had been at the reception; everything from the way the sunset from the beach caught his hair to the way his cheeks flushed as he drank his champagne made his heart clench. By the time their first dance rolled around they were both tipsy and mostly just holding each other close and swaying on the dance floor instead of actually dancing. No one bothered to tut over tradition, they just cooed over how in love they looked.

“She’s very pretty.”

George hummed in agreement, “Plastic surgery does wonders.”

Sam pinched him in the side.

“It’s not a lie!” George insisted, “She got a nose job when we were kids, sometime around my 15th birthday. She came to visit at school with her nose in a splint and everything. Apparently she broke it playing tennis and needed it fixed, but I don’t buy it for a second. Breast implants came later, because there’s no way those are real.”

“George!”

George shrugged, “I’m not judging her for it. With my mother... Everyone had to be picture perfect. Augusta was never a beauty by someone’s standards or another, so she fixed it. Edward was always a mummy’s boy, and fell in line. Caroline is doing much the same. The rest though, it never worked. William was always a bit of a whore, and ended up married at 19 and is probably miserable because heaven forbid we have children in this family born illegitimately, and Lousia and Lizzy were always so sickly that they were kept away from the media lest someone think there was something wrong with them, especially after Frederick died. Henry was the only smart one, he left with the navy and married the girl he wanted while mucking about in Japan or somewhere, some commoner. I’m sure mother threw an absolute fit when she found out.”

“And then there’s you, of course.”

“Of course,” George grinned into Samuel’s hair, “I fucked off as soon as I could. With the girls and Frederick it was easy, there’s nothing you can do about Lizzy having Crohn’s or Louisa having a terrible immune system. With me, I had everything, You know? I was good looking, and smart, and charming-”

“Really?”

George ignored him, “-But I wasn’t healthy mentally. I couldn’t do it. The stress, the attention. It triggered episodes. I just couldn’t. She hated me for it.”

“You can’t be sure-”

“I am,” George insisted, “I know you think of our children, and how anyone could hate their own flesh and blood, but she’s not like us, Sammy. I remember telling her before I was sure I was gay that I knew I liked boys but I maybe liked girls too, and her response was ‘well thank heavens, then you’re not completely useless.’ It was never violent, but she hated me then and hates me now.”

Samuel went quiet, thinking as they watched them cut the eight foot fondant monstrosity that was their wedding cake.

“I remember seeing you when your Aunt got married,” Samuel said softly, “My mother never let me watch television, but it was a historical event, so we watched it in school. That was the first time I ever saw you, I think.”

“Well, there goes my theory of love at first sight for the both of us.”

Sam shook his head on his chest, “This isn't- I mean I just remember thinking how fabulous it must’ve been. All that opulence, you know? You had all those siblings, and you lived in a big palace and always wore nice clothes and seemed so happy. You never... You never had to deal with anything like I did. I was so envious.”

George pushed him back a little, needing to see his husband’s face. Sam seemed to understand, and pushed himself up on his elbows, but still wouldn’t look at him.

“Sammy, it wasn’t that at all. No, don’t shake your head my love,” He leaned up to press a kiss to his mouth, holding his chin with his hand, forcing him to meet his eyes, “I didn’t go through half of what you went through, I know that. Believe me, I do. I was always fed and looked after and no one ever laid a hand on me in anger. But they hated me. All that happiness was fake. I wasn’t allowed friends unless they were pre-approved. I could never have a bad day, never be angry, never frown while in public. I couldn’t leave our gates unless I had a pack of people there to not only protect me, but spy. Then I wasn’t allowed to do anything after a doctor diagnosed me. No sports or drama or art or school groups, nothing. What we have with the children, that’s real. We’re a family. That’s something worth envying. We are infinitely better without the lot. They’ll never know that, because they'll never, ever have someone to make them as happy as you make me."

Sam bit his lip. George could see the glassiness of his eyes, tears just waiting to spill over, but he decided not to comment, instead letting him rest his head back down on his chest.

“I love you.”

For a second he flashes back to that night, the fairy lights in Sam’s eyes as they danced looking like stars and his lips plush and red from wine. He knew in that moment that he would never, ever leave this man for anything.

“I love you too, Darling.”

 

_We interrupt this program for breaking news out of London, where the Royal family has announce the death of King George at 8:46 AM Greenwich Mean Time at home in London. There is no official cause of death at this time, though the king was in failing health and hadn’t been seen publicly in close to six months, unable to even attend Princess Augusta’s wedding just a few weeks previous. The family has asked for privacy in this time of mourning._

_Though the King’s death is not a complete shock, it does leave an interesting void in the succession of the throne; due to German laws of succession, Princess Augusta has officially voided her claim to the title after marrying the Prince of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, which leaves it to her younger brother, George the third. However, George has retired from the public eye since the death of his father Fredrick, and hasn’t been seen for close to fifteen years. For more on this story, we go to our London correspondent, Marcus..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took forever because it basically would not come to me for whatever reason. I have no clue why, my brain is weird. Like I wrote 1000+ word bits of future chapters but the one that's actually needed? nah, who does that? Let's write this funny bit where Surgeon!Lee is a flirt with Sam and John gets pissy because 'this is a hospital DAMNIT LEE STOP HITTING ON THE ER NURSES HE'S MARRIED I'm a doctor I know interesting ways to kill you stop' and Angelica just laughs at the three of them while Sam giggles because his husband is the King of Great Britain and Lee literally can't compete. Good thing is because of that the next ones should be a lot faster.
> 
> Also, line of succession is muddled, of course, because Fredrick was his second son, and Charlotte was his first daughter, but rules have changed drastically since and this will reflect that. A lot of Freddie's titles will be George IV's, while some of the law changes mean that Charlotte will get the ones that were historically Fredrick's.

Freddie woke up that Monday morning like every other Monday morning: completely and totally unwilling to leave bed. 

He lay there for a good ten minutes, buried under his grey comforter, until his second alarm went off. He silenced his phone and got up, stomping off into the bathroom he shares with his sister. 

He went through his routine as normal, stopping only to study the unmistakable bump of a pimple forming just under his eyebrow. He’d just finished with his hair when Charlotte came in, just on schedule to take over while he gets dressed.

“Dad didn’t go to work, and neither did Papa,” She said, her nose crinkled, “both their cars are out front, with two others.”

Freddie frowned. That wasn’t normal.

“Maybe something happened at the Lab? Like some weird government thing, or something. Dad can’t even tell us what he actually does, except it has to do with weird diseases. Or like... hospital accident?”

Charlotte shrugged, “Maybe?”

Freddie wasn't really that sure, but he left to let Charlotte brush her teeth in peace and to get dressed in his room. He went for his standard pick, jeans and a button down shirt, settling on his favorite green flannel. Mitch told him when he wore it two weeks ago that the color looked nice with his eyes.

He chewed the inside of his lip at the thought. He didn’t really get what was happening with Mitch. People tease them, all the time, that they act like they’re dating, but as much as he liked him, he’s not sure if it’s just as a friend, or if it’s a crush. He's pretty sure he’s bi, but even that feels like it might not be right. He knows Mitch is gay, he told him himself, but he doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He sighed, moving to his desk to stuff the homework hew did last night into his bag. Puberty sucked sometimes.

“Guys, can you come down?” Samuel’s voice was loud from what Freddie assumed was the bottom of the stairs, “We have to talk to you.”

Freddie dropped his backpack on the bed before making his way downstairs. He could hear Charlie behind him, and when glanced back she was still in her pajamas.

"Looking good, little sister."

"Oh whatever. It's only..."

Whatever she was going to say died in her throat when they walked into the living room. There were five men in suits, looking serious and ready to take out anyone they needed to.

“What...?”

“We have a lot to talk about,” Samuel said, sighing. George didn’t respond, instead just stared forward, looking like he was in a daze, “Can you leave us alone?”

Fredrick realized he was talking to the guys in suits once they started to file out, leaving the four of them.

"What's going on?"

“Your grandparents aren’t dead,” George said once the door was closed, “Well, not completely. My father died when I was young, but my mother and grandfather were still around. On Friday he died, and it changes everything.”

“So what, are we like... inheriting stuff? Or do we have to go to England or something? I mean, with all those guys... he wasn’t like, Military, or anything, was he? And they have to come announce his death?”

George laughed, running a hand through his hair, "God, how do I explain this mess we've found ourselves in?"

"Dad, just spit it out. It's probably totally not a big deal, you just think it is."

“He was a King, Fredrick. We’re his line of succession. They’re here to protect the four of us from a diplomatic disaster.”

The four of them were quiet for a moment, both him and Charlotte gawking at their parents.

“So you’re...”

“Prince of Wales and Duke of Edinburgh since my father died. You inherited my title when you were born, and became Duke of Edinburgh too. Now, I suppose, You’d be Prince of Wales, and I’d be king. You’ve always been Prince Elector of Hannover, though that’s less important.”

“It’s like the Princess Diaries,” Charlotte said, bewildered, and Freddie couldn’t help but laugh because of course that would be her response. His nine year old sister just found out she’s a Princess of England, third in line for the throne, and her response is to make a Disney reference. 

“Your grandmother isn’t Julie Andrews, my love,” Samuel reached a hand out to her, and she easily went, curling up on his lap. George just snorted. 

"Our lives would be infinitely more easy if she was."

Freddie stayed in the middle of the room, his hands twisting in the hem of his flannel shirt, his eyes on George.

“Were you going to tell us?”

He nodded, “Yes. You would’ve known when we were sure you wouldn’t accidentally tell someone.”

“Are you really a Prince? In Germany and England?”

“Great Britain, and Yes. We’re Princes, not just me. Though in Germany we’re technically Prince Electors. We’re part of the Holy Roman Empire. It’s ceremonial at this point, we hold no standing and have no influence, outside of wealth. It’s the reason I use my German passport for everything, since it’s not diplomatic.”

“So when we went to visit Hannover last summer, and we saw that castle...?”

George’s mouth quirked into a smile, “That’s our property, yes. I had never actually been, before we went. My father wasn’t terribly close to the German side, though we know the language.”

“And so you made us learn German when we were babies...”

“Because it made sense for you to be bilingual," George shrugged, "Don't pretend like you don't enjoy that your German homework is so easy. I wanted to teach you French as well, but your father thought it might be too much.”

“You speak French too?” Charlotte asked, her eyes a little wide.

“I do, Duckie.”

“I want to learn French!”

George chuckled, “we’ll get you a tutor, if you want. You can learn as many languages as you would like. Louis and Marie will love that, I’m sure.”

Louis and Marie. King Louis and Marie Antoinette. He did a report on them in last year, and his dad acted like it was nothing that he knew them personally. 

Freddie felt lightheaded. He dropped down next to hid father, scrubbing a hand over his face.

They’ve always been close. He knows that some people think that’s not cool anymore, to be so close to your parents, but Freddie has always thought that’s bullshit. He’s always been close with both his parents, but his relationship with his Dad has always been just as much friendship as a parental relationship.

His father hid everything from him. His father lied.

George bumped their shoulders, “You alright, Moose?”

“It’s just- I feel like-”

“Fredrick,” Samuel sat forward, looking him straight in the eyes, Charlotte still on his knee, “Anything you’re feeling right now is fine. You deserve to be scared, or nervous, or angry. All of that is okay.”

“I guess I don’t get how you could lie to us. I mean I like... understand why, you know? but I don’t get how?” 

His Fathers’s eyes met, having a silent conversation. It always unnerved Freddie when that happened.

“I didn’t have to greatest of childhoods,” George finally admitted, “It... was hard, to grow up that way. Constantly in the spotlight and having to be perfect all the time. Then when the doctor diagnosed me, I was openly shunned by the family except from your aunt. I didn’t want any of your around that.”

"Is it cause you and Dad are gay, too? Like... is that why you left?"

"Some of of it, yes. I would've never been allowed to marry your father if I asked. They would've found me a suitable woman and I would have hated her and myself. I would've always, always regretted giving up everything I could've had with your father, including you." 

If his father would've kept up with it, if he wouldn't have left, he wouldn't have married his other Dad, and he wouldn't exist. The thought blew his mind a little.

They were perfect for each other, and even Freddie, in his 12 year old brain and having never been in love, knew that. This was like... end all, be all, soulmate stuff. They never argued, even; the one time he can remember his parents ever raising their voices at each other was when he was nine and his father had had a manic outburst because the pharmacy had messed up his pills. Sam hadn't even argued back or held it over his head or anything, he just took all of George's screaming in stride, knowing that it wasn't really him. 

This wasn't just about lying to Freddie and Charlotte over their family. This was about protecting all four of them from the mess.

"Okay." 

"Okay?" 

"It's weird. I'm not going to pretend it isn't, but I think I get it. We're princes, Charlotte's a princess, and we're gonna rule a country. Somewhere there's gonna be a crappy montage when we get makeovers and we'll learn the true value of family." 

"I mean, I could do without the makeover part." Samuel said with a shrug. 

"I'm not so sure about that, my love. Maybe a little chemical peel, or something-" 

"Isn't there usually a dog involved in this too?" Freddie asked, grinning, "I feel like there should be. Some scrappy mutt, or something." 

"We are not having the 'can we get a dog' conversation again," Samuel groaned, "We go through it once a month, and it's just not happening. You three will play with it and I'll be responsible for all the awful cleaning up and vet appointments and nonsense." 

"I think I deserve one, after you and Dad lied to me for basically my whole life-" 

"Oh, ho," George laughed, "Already using it as a guilt trip, well done." 

"No you don't," Samuel shook his head, "You think you do, but you don't." 

"Future kings deserve dogs." 

"When you're in charge of your own castle, Fredrick Augustus, then you can have a dog." 

“Wait!” Charlotte suddenly sat up, her eyes wide, “Wait, Aunt Louisa’s a princess! When we talked to her, we were talking to someone in the castle!”

Samuel laughed, “You were.”

"Gee, sis, you don't miss out on anything-"

"Oh shut up," Charlotte rolled her eyes, "I mean, this means we finally are allowed to know who she is. So does this mean we get to meet her? Finally?”

George looked at Samuel, who shrugged.

“I guess so.”


	4. Chapter 4

Fredrick decided on going to school that day. Charlotte stayed home, as did George, but he refused. Samuel told him he was allowed to go back home even as they drove to school, but ultimately he felt like he had to go. It was something normal to distract him from the mess.

With him missing first period he only met up with Marty, Rabia, and Mitch for the first time at their usual spot at lunch. Rabia was lying back against one of the benches, Her hijab fanning out around her, and Marty nudged her foot with her own to make Rabia move so Freddie could sit next to her.

“You look like my Aunt Louisa.”

“Why, is she a fellow member of team hijab?”

“Nope, but I’m like 99% sure she wears that same scarf. Her hair is pretty bad from treatments when she was young, so she always covers her head.”

“She is an equally amazing headscarf wearing woman, so I have mad respect, Fredrick Augustus.”

Marty snickered, her dark curls bouncing with her shoulders, “Worst name ever.”

“I’ve come to accept that. No need to remind me.”

“You have like... the whitest name in existence, Fredrick Augustus Hannover.”

"You sound like a 65 year old insurance salesman from Germany, Fredrick Augustus Hannover." 

"The kind that probably wears birkenstocks with socks, Fredrick Augustus Hannover." 

Mitch stabbed at his pasta, making a face, “Why are you just Hannover, by the way? Shouldn’t you be hyphenated or something?”

“I dunno. Dad never talks about his family, so I think-”

“What the fuck are you homos talking about?”

The four of them groaned in unison.

Most of the time Freddie could see some reason for being a bully. Some stupid thing like jealousy, or self hate. Jayden Bradford - because of course his name was Jayden - was nothing but an asshole because he knew he couldn't get in trouble. He lived to make their lives miserable; if he wasn't talking shit about Freddie's parents or Rabia's dad being an Imam, he was being gross about Marty being dark-skinned or calling Mitch a fairy or whatever else came to mind.

“Don’t you have a Klan rally to attend instead of worrying about us, douchebag?”

“I don’t know, don’t you have a ISIS seminar? You could do us all a favor and learn how to turn yourself into a suicide bomb.”

Both Mitch and Freddie flinched, Marty looked five seconds from jumping over the table to strangle him, but Rabia just took a deep breath and adjusted her Hijab, faking a pout.

“Aw, are you sad that being a dumbass white boy isn’t cool anymore? It’s okay, I hear dumpsters are good places to live, and at least you’ll be amongst the trash where you belong.”

“Oooh, such a good burn. I’m fucking intimidated.”

“He should be, I’m intimidated by her.” Freddie mumbled to Marty. Apparently he wasn’t quiet enough, because Jayden zeroed in on him.

“Well, maybe your Dad can teach you to take it up the ass, then you can be a snowflake freak too.”

Mitch flinched when he said it, and all Freddie could heart was the blood rushing in his ears. He would never know why he did it; maybe it was the stress of that day, of everything coming out and feeling like his life was ruined, maybe it we because he’d just told one of his best friends to basically kill herself, He bolted up, his hands curling into fists.

“Freddie...” Rabia’s voice was full of warning, be he just shook his head, smiling, before he launched himself at Jayden.

 

Ben Tallmadge was his third grade teacher before they had made him principal of the Middle School, the youngest they had in years. He was one of the sweetest, most tolerant men Freddie had ever met, the type of guy that when they’d make mother’s day crafts would plan a special project for him and the other kids that didn’t have mothers, and always made sure he had a few bagged lunches on hand for the kids that never seemed to have one. Freddie would never be more thankful than he was that day that that was the case.

“You attacked him openly, in front of most of the student body.”

“I fully and proudly acknowledge that, sir.”

Ben exhaled through his nose, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “You do know I have to do something, right? I had to suspend him – there were enough people around that heard him making those awful comments about your parents and Rabia – but you attacked him, even if you didn’t do that much damage. Something has to be done.”

Freddie shrugged, licking his lower lip and wincing at the pain. The only hit he had managed to land was to Freddie’s mouth, and he had a fat lip to show for it, “I know that. It was fully worth it.”

Tallmadge pulled the elastic from his ponytail, shaking out his hair, before retying it into a topknot. 

“That kid’s an asshole,” Mr. Tallmadge admitted, “Though I’d deny I said it if you told anyone, of course, so don’t go spreading it around.”

“Sir, I doubt anyone would disagree.”

Tallmadge’s lips quirked, obviously trying to hold back his smile. 

“I should punish you severely. Fighting isn’t tolerated, and you know that, but with what he said to provoke you, considering the situation with... me, it honestly puts me in a strange predicament.”

He nodded. Though no one knew if he was gay or bi or whatever, everyone knew Mr. Tallmadge used to have a husband, someone in the Army who had died in the Middle East. It was one of those things that went around school, mostly because so many students had massive crushes on him and needed all the gossip on his personal life they could get. What he had said to Freddie was something Tallmadge had probably had to deal with his whole life, just like his dads had.

“Freddie?” he asked, concerned, “Is there something... I mean, I know you. I’ve known you since elementary school, and I know you don’t fight like that just because someone called you a name.”

“It’s just,” Fredrick made an awkward gesture with his hands, not knowing what it say, “I just found out so pretty big family news, and it’s kinda... hard, to process it all? and then Bradford being an idiot doesn’t help, so I snapped.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Nah, not really. I mean, you’ll find out eventually, and it’s not like... horrible, or anything, but right now I’d rather not say.”

“Fair enough,” he sighed, “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. Since this is obviously a bullying situation – I know, I know, you don’t think it is, but it is, just deal, kid – and you were responding to it, we’re only going to give you Saturday detention. Considering it a warning, right? if It happens again I have to suspend you, like I’m doing with Jayden.”

“Okay. Will I have to miss practice? We have a Meet on Sunday, and practice is at noon.”

“You should be fine, but it's up to Caleb whether or not you can compete. Something tells me he'll be more than willing to let you go right ahead though, so don't worry. Your dads will be finding out too okay?”

Freddie groaned, but agreed. His Dad was going to guilt the hell out of him, and then give him the ‘fighting is not the answer’ lecture. It was going to _suck._

“Okay, you can go sit until 6th period is over.”

He left his office to find Rabia sitting out front, looking annoyed.

“I have to meet with the psychologist,” She explained, before he could even ask, “probably to tell me I am an important, wonderful person who deserves love or some shit.” 

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Like, okay, I know he basically told me to go kill myself, but it’s not the first time someone’s called me a suicide bomber, so...” Rabia shrugged, “What about you?”

“I’ve got Saturday detention.”

Rabia smirked, “Worth it. He's going to have a black eye for like two weeks.”

“Totally,” Freddie dropped down in the seat next to her, “But now my dads have to find out and I have to explain to them what he said. Then I’ll have to go through some lecture about how wonderful I am, and how our family is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Adults, man,” Rabia groaned dramatically, “Why don’t they realize we can handle shit on our own.”

Freddie just rested his head on her shoulder and sighed.

 

The morning is so busy no one even thought to get on Sam’s case about calling in late. It’s not the first time it’s happened; as rare as it is for Sam, he’s got two kids and a husband with a long medical history, the thought that something could’ve come up and made him an hour late isn’t a surprise. 

He almost thought he was going to get away with the whole thing, until Sam gets cornered on his break by Lee.

He’d been sitting with Rensselaer and John for the better part of ten minutes when Charles sauntered in, putting his hands on the table and all but looming over him, ignoring the other two occupants and the conversation. Sam’s always thought he was attractive – not as atractive as George, of course, but still – but when he did things like that, getting so close into Sam’s personal space, it only made him look creepy.

“You weren’t in this morning.”

Sam shrugged, toying with his lanyard, “Something came up with George and the kids that I couldn’t ignore. They come first over the hospital, and Greene has always known that.”

Lee smirked at him, “I’m sure we can fix that.”

Sam smiled, nice a cheerful, “I’m sure you can’t.”

Lee just threw his head back and laughed, sauntering off. John looked like he was ready to break his nose, glowering at Lee’s retreating back.

“You okay Laurens?”

“You’re married,” John spat, “And happily, I might add. I wish he would get off it.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, John-”

“It shouldn’t be a deal at all!” John huffed, annoyed, “Little bastard just thinks that he can do what he wants, when he wants, because he’s a surgeon! Including harassing my nurses!”

“You sound like your jealous, Laurens,” Ren teased, “do I need to tell Franny she’s going to have two daddies instead of one?”

John threw his hands in the air in exasperation, “I don’t know why I talk to you sometimes, Schuyler.”

Ren winked at him, and Sam grinned.

“It could lead to problems at the hospital, too,” John ranted, “What if he went too far and Sam had to file a complaint? Next thing you know we’re the hospital with the creepy cardio surgeon.” 

“As opposed to what, the one with the angry guy in pediatrics?” Ren asked, “You gonna challenge him to a duel over Sammy Hannover’s honor?” 

John grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“John, he’s a flirt,” Sam shrugged, “It’s fine. Well, maybe not 100%, and it does get annoying, but Lee’s not the type to be anything but talk. I’ve never felt uncomfortable around him, only mildly agitated. Same for everyone else he flirts with, which is about half the nursing staff, male and female. If we ever felt like it was uncomfortable instead of annoying, and we told him so, he'd stop.”

“I’m sorry I feel that I should protect the nurses that have always been respected here, doing their jobs properly.”

“You hated me when I started,” Sam deadpanned, “And only started liking me when I lost it on Arnold for being an incompetent idiot.”

“That’s ‘cause Alex told me you were a dick,” John said with a shrug, “Plus you played the whole wide-eye, 'good golly gosh,' thing and seemed like such a fake ass suck up. I didn’t realized that was just how your personality is.”

“Thanks, really, such a lovely description of who I am as a person,” Samuel said sarcastically, making Ren laugh, “And Alex is the last person you should be asking about me. I had met him like... once, at that point, and I was a sheltered 18-year-old fresh from private christian school. Of course we were going to butt heads. It was his fault for getting in my face at the dinner table and bringing up politics knowing full well I'd disagree with him anyway.” 

“Well I know that now, but-”

“But you still think he’s a suck up.” Ren raised his eyebrows, waiting for John to challenge him.

“Why do I even bother,” John grumbled, getting up from their table. Sam and Ren watched him go.

“That man is going to give himself an ulcer.”

“And I’m not going to feel bad about it.” Ren mumbled, stabbing his spoon into his yogurt.

 

Sam’s first patient after his break was a four year old with a minor head wound. It was easy enough, something that wouldn’t require a doctor but looked scary to a child, and he put on his biggest smile when he slipped into the room.

“Hi sweetie!” Sam cooed, “I’m Samuel. What's your name?" 

"Lola." 

"What did you do, huh?”

“I ran into the coffee table,” She said sheepishly, her cheeks pink. Sam smiled, trying to seem friendly.

“Happens all the time,” He reassured her, slipping on a pair of gloves, “Can I look at your head?”

She nodded, and he removed the gauze she was holding there and got to work. I wasn’t bleeding anymore, and since it wasn’t deep, just long, he could use liquid stitches. As he worked he explained what he was doing, asked her questions about school her friends, anything he could think of to keep her distracted. Her mother would occasionally pipe up, but otherwise her face stayed buried in whatever she was reading. It was mostly superfical, and she seemed to get that, letting him do his work instead of hovering, something he preferred.

He was good at this. He always had been; helping and being nice to people had just been ingrained in who he was since he was a kid, mostly because his mother _wasn’t_. Treat others how you want to be treated. He hadn’t been treated with much help as a kid, and decided he wanted to help. Nursing not only gave him the ablilty to help, but it also got him out from under his Mother’s thumb, and allowed him to swiftly cut contact once he was on his own two feet, and met George. 

He was midway through describing how to care for her head when her mother let out a choked off gasp, making Sam look at her in confusion.

Clutched in her hand was a magazine, held open against her chest. He froze as his brain processed what he was seeing. 

Him and George on their wedding day, Sam in just his shirtsleeves with his arms around George’s waist, smiling as George kissed his hair. The sidebar had a picture George had taken with his phone of the kids grinning while sitting on the front porch just a few weeks ago, cheeks pink from the wind and their wellies covered in mud from where they had been out in the woods behind the house.

_AMERICAN ROYALTY!_

_Homophobia, addiction, and a bitter king: Why Britain’s heirs to the throne have been hiding in plain sight in America._  
  
He makes a point to never swear in front of patients. He makes it a point to not swear at all, really. He's just glad he had the presence of mind to slip his hands over Lola's ears before he did.

"Oh fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rensselaer Schuyler was one of the Schuyler brothers. He was around 20 years younger than Angelica, but one of the only ones that didn't seem to have a career listed anywhere/get into politics, so now he's a doctor and aged up. (within the context of this I figured he's a fill in for Cornelia and her twin, who were born 6 years after Angelica, since I'm ignoring all 7 kids who didn't make it past the age of five.)
> 
> Originally I had this written as Angelica, but then I realized Angelica was also in my outline for a much bigger part that made more sense historically (since she lived in London for 20 years while John Barker Church was a MP) so here we are.
> 
> Also, spot the super fun Turn references. (and yes, Ben's husband was Nathan Hale. Who, considering this musical theater verse, probably looked like Stark Sands.)


	5. Chapter 5

Crisis meetings with members of the royal family include in the upwards of thirty people. Sam counted them through the window on Skype, having only formally introduced to two, and wondered how this counts as secret. Next to him George was tense but unfazed by everyone’s presence, focusing his ire on one of the press secretaries who had introduced herself as Margot and ignoring his mother and brother. The kids had been sequestered to the attic playroom, but he had little doubt they occupied the bottom stairs as usually did when they wanted to eavesdrop. 

“How could none of you know this was going to publication? You have spies everywhere! Every move is monitored, You can tell me this was a shock-”

“It was leaked from a Brazilian tabloid, and we have little influence there. We heard vague rumblings that they were looking for you in the UK and America, but didn’t know about anyone else.”

“Like I’m going to believe that?”

“George,” Sam tried, his voice calm, “There are literally thousands of publications on this planet. All of them were going to be looking for you the minute your grandfather died. Our wedding, the children’s births, all that is accessible to anyone with a computer who could’ve figure out you would be using a German passport instead of a British one. We both have facebooks, and Freddie has an instagram. We should’ve expected this all. It’s not a stretch to think it would’ve come out in an unsavory way and they wouldn't know about it.”

George deflated a little, knowing he was right.

“At least you married a reasonable man, George.”

George snorted and rolled his eyes, “I married him for being more than reasonable, mother.”

“Alright,” Margot said, clearly trying to get the conversation back on track, “We have something… less pleasant to talk about. About you, Samuel.”

Samuel took a deep breath, steeling himself from what he knew was coming. 

“I’m listening.”

“We need to know what you were in for,” She asked, her face grim, “If it’s something serious, we can spin it. Make it into an awareness campaign, or something of the sort. Eating disorder, Heroin, whatever.”

“It wasn’t addiction-” 

“You were in a center that required isolation-” 

“Believe me, I’m aware, as I was the one in isolation,” Samuel snapped, “and I promise you, I wasn’t an addict, and I wasn’t suffering from any sort of health problem.” 

Sam scrubbed a hand across his face, not wanting to get into his horrible summer before high school, but knew it was needed, “It was a christian correctional center, and I attended conversion therapy. When I was fourteen, my mother caught me kissing John Waldheim at the park down the street from his house the day after we finished eight grade. I ended up spending the summer in a facility that specialized in bringing people back to the light of Christ, whatever that means. Three months of therapy, anti-psychotics I didn’t need, and them refusing me meals or water if I didn’t do what they wanted me to. Hell, there was more than that; I had to learn how to walk, and talk, and carry myself differently or they would claim I wasn’t dedicated and I’d have to do hard labor to make up for it. They even shaved my head, because my haircut was too effeminate.”

It was funny to see every one of the thirty people in the room looking at him with a different severities of the same expression. Some looked stunned, others looked upset, and the rest horribly grim.

George was the worst. George looked absolutely devastated.

“What?”

“It was a long time ago, George, and I-”

“And what? You didn’t think to tell me? I knew everything about your mother, and had no problem, but this, you choose to keep from me?”

“I… talking about what happened with my mother was different, okay? No one blames a child for being hit. Me being stupid and getting caught when I should’ve -” 

“When you should’ve what, stopped being gay? Dated a nice girl to get her off your back so you could’ve just gotten a beating for not cleaning your room well enough instead?”

“Believe me, any feelings I have towards my mother’s methods have been well gone over. The woman was evil, George. I represented every mistake she made, and it got taken out on me. I’ve made peace with the fact that nothing she ever said to me was right.”

“But this isn’t-”

“George,” Edward said firmly, “Leave your husband alone. His reasons for never telling you about what was surely a… difficult time in his life that had nothing to do with you seem to be completely valid.”

“Ed-”

“Enough, George. Leave him alone. He can tell you what he wants. It’s not like you never kept secrets.”

The thought that his brother was defending Samuel in front of his mother made him shut his mouth. He felt like he had entered another reality.

Margot cleared her throat, trying to get the attention on her, “Right then. This- that’s horrible, honestly, don’t think I feel any other way, but from a PR standpoint, this is aces. We don’t have anything like that in the UK, and anyone with half a conscience will sympathize with you.” 

“Brilliant,” George said sarcastically, "We'll only have to deal with UKIP, the Tories, and the Britain First arseholes then." 

Margot ignored him. “We’re bringing you back as well. It’s not safe anymore, not with children. The plane will be in Hartford tomorrow, and you’ll be arriving in Luton the night. We’ll send a car.”

Next to him, George went rigid.

“We’re just supposed to leave? With… twelve hours notice?”

“It’s not ideal,” Margot admitted, looking apologetic, “But it’s the best course of action. You know how this works, your Majesty. They’ll find your address and hound you. they’ll show up at the children’s schools, and your work. It’s better to be here. When you decide what it is, exactly, you want, we’ll figure it out.”

The rest of the meeting when by in a blur, mostly consisting of details that when over Sam’s head but George seemed to understand perfectly. He left them to it, sitting quietly until they disconnected the call and they found themselves sitting in their quiet living room.

“I was born out of wedlock.”

George blinked at him, unsure where this was coming from.

“My father was a Rector and cut off contact when he found out that she was pregnant. He was popular one, and got transferred when it happened, so everyone found out. That’s why she hated me. The rest of the church treated me with pity, since I couldn’t help who I was born to, while they treated her with scorn. She resented me for getting a free pass when she got blamed.

“When the thing with John happened, I think she felt vindicated, That I was a screw up like she was. I think that’s why I was sent to conversion therapy. She everyone would know how horrible and disgusting I was.”

“You’re not-”

“Believe me, I know. If I thought I was, we’d never have sex. I’d be afraid of seeing you naked, and we know that’s not a problem. Hell, even the church doesn't really have a problem with it, I ended up having to be sent to a Catholic center because she couldn't find an Episcopal one that would take me. Just... that's what it came from. The resentment and hatred. I never understood, especially after we had Freddie and Charlotte, so I never brought it up to you.”

George rested his head on Sam’s shoulder, “This is why I didn’t want this for us. We never fight and suddenly this happens and we drag up all the painful things that we don’t need to worry about and resent each other over it. This is what happens.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“It does. We’re inviting the whole of the United Kingdom and former crown states into our bedroom. It’ll happen.”

Sam shook his head. “Everything’s going to change, but nothing has to change about how I feel about you.”

George rolled his eyes, “Did you read that while looking at anniversary cards last month, or…?” 

“Let me be sappy,” Sam kissed his forehead, “I know I’m sappy all the time, but just this once can I not get called out for it?”

“No.”

Sam shoved George off his shoulder. “Let’s go ask the kids what they want to do for dinner, hm?”

The went through their routine the same as they ever did when Sam wasn’t on nightshift. Sam made dinner and the kids did their homework at the kitchen island, George helping when they needed it. They ate dinner together, where Freddie confessed he had Saturday detention, and George cackled in glee when he found out why while Sam scolded him for acting so rashly while secretly feeling touched he came to not only his own defense, but Rabia's as well. Charlotte regaled them all with the story of the hike her and George had taken that day while they were at home together, where they had come across a den of foxes. They all avoided talking about the rest, and it was a normal, keeping the intrusion of the world outside their family for just a little bit longer. 

They told them about leaving after they finished dinner, not content to draw it out and make it painful. Charlotte was excited, beaming at the thought of meeting her cousins, aunts and uncles. She’d always been one to roll with the punches, and Sam was grateful.

Freddie was upset. His face remained neutral but it was obvious by the way he stomped up with stairs when they told him to go back for about a week. Sam went to check on him once he was done cleaning the kitchen, Charlotte and George staying downstairs with a movie. The door was wide open but he still knocked.

“You alright?”

Freddie huffed, “Can I have this, please? Can I just be a sulky preteen for like… a day instead of acting like an adult and just taking it on the chin?”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want Freddie. I told you you’re allowed-”

“I’m not, and you know I’m not, and I really wish everyone would stop saying that.”

Sam sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He moved from the door to his bed, dropping down next to his suitcase. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I have to leave, like… everyone. Rabia’s been my best friend since we were in diapers, Dad, and Marty since she moved up from Texas in the second grade. And Mitch is – is-”

Freddie made an aborted gesture with his hand, and Sam couldn’t help but smile. 

“You like him.”

“I don’t know! that’s the thing, like… he could be like… the one, or whatever. Like you and dad. Or he could just turn into a douchebag when we started dating and ruin everything and screw up our entire friendship and our entire friend group, or I could date him and realize I don’t really like him but want to date Rabia, or whatever. But I’m never going to find out, because I’m going to be the _king of fucking Britain_ -”

“Language,” Samuel warned, but there was no real threat behind it.

“Sorry – but you know it’s true. I can’t think about what I want anymore, because I’m not allowed to. I can’t be normal anymore. I have to think about 65 million people, and that’s not even counting the people that are like… going to move there from Australia and India, or come as refugees from Syria or whatever, or be born there before I do this. I don’t even know if I can do this.”

“You can.”

Freddie sighed, looking up at where George was standing in his doorway, “How long have you been lurking?”

“Only a few minutes. I’ve gotten good over the last 12 years.”

“Yeah, well, I suppose we’ll just have servants do it from now on.” Freddie huffed, throwing another t-shirt into his suitcase. George’s expression softened. 

“You know, I was a selfish twat most of my youth. I never cared. You do, Freddie. You care so, so much about people that don’t mean a thing to you. You get that from him, I’m sure,” He glanced at Sam, smiling, “And that’s why you’re going to be fantastic at it.”

“I’m glad someone thinks so,” He mumbled to himself, throwing his socks into his bag.

It was only 9:30 by the time the kids were settled and packed but both Sam and George were exhausted, not even entertaining the idea to do anything but sleep. Instead they went through their own nighttime routine; taking a long shower together and George taking his medication as Sam brushed his teeth. He paused to stare at the pills in hand when he did; the thought of Sam having to take them, getting all the side affects but none of the relief, was painful. He had stumbled across information on it, once, when he was thinking about stopping his own medication regiment. It made you apathetic to the world around you to the point that you didn't even feel suicidal, because you cared so little about yourself that ending your life wouldn't cross your mind. Samuel, of all people, thinking that way, was horrifying.

He drew him in close when they finally climbed into bed, thankful that Sam didn’t ask questions, and just clung to him.

“Do you think we’ll be allowed to keep it?” Samuel asked softly, his breath hot against his collar, not needed to clarify what he was referring to.

The house was theirs. When Sam had found it, he had been thrilled at the prospect, when all George had seen was a dump. A massive victorian that had been sold off to a business sometime in the 80’s. It was disgusting, but Samuel had wanted nothing more than to bring it back to it’s glory, and he had succeeded. They had joked, for a long time, that the house was a trade off for the kids; Samuel was hesitant to start a family so young, but George had wanted nothing more than a baby of their own. Freddie was born just a month after every bedroom and bathroom in the house had been renovated, and Charlotte just two weeks after the attic and basement had been finished. The house had grown with their family, so it felt like part of the family. It was supposed to be their forever home. Now they were expected to just give it up. 

“I don’t know much of anything, right now,” George sighed into his hair, “But I do know it will never be the same.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm a horrible human who takes forever. The last six months have basically been batshit insane for me IRL, so that doesn't help either.

The flight had left Sam off balance, as it usually did. Twice he had been to the UK, both times to Scotland, and twice he had chalked his feelings up to George not being there. Samuel had adjusted wonderfully after a nap and a shower any time they traveled together, but apart he felt tired and irritable. The start to his year abroad in Edinburgh had been particularly hard; he had loved Edinburgh, but those first few grey and wet mornings all he had wanted was a strong body to curl around and keep him warm. The whole thing made him terribly homesick.

This time, with George sleeping fitfully next to him, he had no excuse.

Samuel shoved off the covers and slipped out of bed, finding a pair of sweatpants on the floor before slipping from the room. He was too restless to lie in bed, instead deciding he needed some sort of distraction. He peeked in on the kids, finding them both asleep, before deciding to make his way downstairs to the library, hoping he could find a distraction.

“Hello, Dear.”

Samuel swore, clutching his chest as Mary Howard smiled at him from her desk as soon as he opened the door. 

“I didn’t think anyone would be up.”

Mary shrugged, “It’s one of the benefits of being self-employed, being able to work whenever. Do come in, though, I’d be happy for the company.”

Samuel wandered around, checking the titles for a book that might be interesting, but finding only classics and original pressings that probably cost more than his car back home. After a while he gave up and slid into one of the armchairs that sat in front of her desk. “What are you doing, if you don’t mind me asking? You’re a designer, aren’t you?”

“Interior and exterior design, yes,” She confirmed, focusing back on the screen in front of her, “I’m afraid the remodel of Worksop is taking over my life at this point.”

“That’s the country estate, I’m guessing?”

Mary hummed in agreement, “Yes, in Nottinghamshire. We had a short in the wall of the west wing. Most of the house survived, thankfully, but that area is a total gut job. You did something of the sort in Connecticut, didn’t you?”

Sam nodded, “We bought an old second empire when we were just out of undergrad. We finished it off a few months ago.”

She looked up to smile at him, “And you miss it already.”

“Apparently I can’t sleep anywhere but my own bed,” Sam shrugged, “Not to mention the city noise. We live a good 40 minutes outside of New Haven, in the middle of nowhere. The only thing I’m used to hearing is George’s breathing. I’ll get used to it, I guess.”

“To be fair, Our foot traffic is at least only locals. Here you can move about without too many eyes on you. I think Georgie insisted you not stay in Buckingham to save you some of the hounding of tourists and his mother.”

Sam smiled, “He always worries too much about that sort of thing. We would’ve been fine.” 

“It’s been that way since he was a little one. Any excuse to skive off from the formality.”

“You’re fond of him.”

She smiled, “George was born here, did he tell you that?” 

Sam shook his head. 

“Ah, well, he probably didn’t deem it too important. His mother had a rough go of it with Auggie, and had decided she wanted to try a home birth with a midwife the second time around. My husband was a good friend of his father’s, and decided she could come here to do it away from the press. I was here when he was born, right outside the door. I think I was third to hold him after his mother and the midwife.”

“Where was his father?”

Mary snorted, “Who knows. Wooing some whore, probably. Or gambling his allowance away.”

Sam flinched. “Was it that bad? He never talks about him.”

“He was never what any of the children or Augusta deserved,” Mary closed her laptop, looking sad, “I think that’s why she demanded so much from the children, honestly. Their father was an embarrassment, but they didn’t have to be. With George, he couldn’t help that he wasn’t perfect, and she distanced herself from him. Now, I’m sure, she’s realized it wasn’t what was right, but that’s probably why she continues to do so; if she held him close, I think the guilt would break her.”

Sam wasn’t sure about that, but he could see where Mary might think so.

“We should probably go to sleep,” Mary said, standing, “Big day tomorrow and all that. Care to walk an old lady upstairs?”

Sam smiled, “I’d be delighted, of course.”

 

 

It had been three hours and Sam’s feet were starting to ache.

After a day of running around and being talked through protocol, Sam was forced into a suit and thrown into the deep end thanks to George's mother. Of course, the ‘informal cocktail party’ she had insisted they throw had no less than three hundred people in attendance, he should've expected it. Sam had been left to wander and weave his way through enough conversations with strange people to last him a lifetime, had barely been allowed to eat anything, and had at least half a dozen awkward instances of people staring at him, horrified and unsure of protocol, before bowing to him.

 And then he saw a familiar head of dark hair and felt himself relax instantly.

“Angelica,” Sam smiled, thrilled to see the familiar face. Instantly he pulled her into a tight hug, "Thank God. George said you were on the guest list but I wasn't sure you'd come."

"What, and miss all the gossip? Never." 

Her husband nudged her, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, yes, of course. This is my husband, John Church, one of your MPs. John, Sam is one of Peggy’s oldest friends,” Angelica explained, his eyes seeming to light up when she mentioned her sister.

“We’ve met then, haven’t we? At one of their Christmas parties. I’m pretty sure Alex threatened to throw you into the pool that year?”

“Yeah,” Sam could feel himself flush, “That was freshman year. I hadn’t exactly… decamped from the brainwashing of a religious childhood.”

“He’s been thrilled that you’re a part of the royal family now, though,” Angelica told him, all smiles, “I think he thinks it will give Washington a leg up, since he can be all pally with the family through you and Eliza.”

“Eliza is a gem of a woman, but even she couldn’t make my family seem ‘pally’ with anyone.”

“Your majesty,” Angelic said with fake awe, both bowing with a flourish, while John chuckled next to her, making George groan as he stopped at Sam’s elbow. 

“God, I know you’re just being a smartarse since Peggy isn’t here to fill that role, but please don’t,” He huffed, running a hand over his face, “Not when I have to deal with this shite. None of these people gave me the time of day as a child, and now they all curtsy and want to talk about Eton like it was the good old days and they didn’t get paid to make it seem like I had friends to the press.”

“I can't help it, she’d be mad if I didn’t give you shit. Not that she’s not mad at you not telling her you’re the _King of England,_ Mr. 'no, I'm only just related, don't worry, it's not important.'”

George at least had the decency to wince.

“I am sorry about that, you know. But she must understand…”

“I’m sure she’d understand if she saw how miserable you are right now,” Angelica admitted, “How are you holding up?”

George made a face, “It is truly an honor and a privilege to come home to serve my people.”

Angelica snorted, nicking a glass of champagne off a passing tray, “if you’re gonna try to seem like you actually like being here, at least try not to sound like a robot when you spout off what the PR team force feeds you.”

“Speaking of,” Sam said, smiling, “Have you ever thought about working for the royal family? I know we have a million people around, but I’d prefer someone I could trust, especially with the kids. Freddie doesn't like to listen to anyone anyway, but I think he could manage for Aunt Peggy's sister.”

Angelica smirked, flipping open her clutch and handing over a business card, “Why your highness, I never thought you’d ask.”

After he pocketed the card the four of them retreated to on of the multiple sitting areas that had been set up amongst the fringes of the ballroom. They stayed together in their little group for close to an hour, talking animatedly about nothing and everything. Sam was sure they were getting looks by now, but he didn’t care. Already he missed having someone who treated him like a normal human being, and he knew he’d always be her baby sister’s friend to Angie.

Sometime after, Angelica and John had made their excuses over Phil, Kitty, and JJ, and left. The absence left Sam to wonder when they could possibly escape as they both retreated to the bar for another drink.

“Georgie!” 

When Sam turned around at the voice, it was to an impossibly good looking Asian man smirking at his husband. 

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“John,” George smiled, pleasant, but clearly that wasn’t enough. Throwing his arms around George in a tight hug, John laughed, nuzzling into his neck. The whole thing left Samuel feeling awkward, standing by their side, until George was released and slid and arm around Samuel’s shoulders.

“This is my husband, Samuel.”

“Ah yes, you’re the little prince, then. Pleasure to meet you.” He smiled, not even bothering to take his eyes away from George’s face as he shook Sam’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too, though I can’t say I know who you are.”

“John Stewart, third earl of Bute, at your service.”

Samuel just shrugged, still having no idea who it was. John looked ruffled at his indifference.

“Why George, did you keep your husband in the dark on purpose?”

“Considering how it was when I left for the States I figure not talking about any... friends I had around that time was a good thing. How is Mary, by the way?”

For the first time, his smile faltered. “Fine.”

“And the children? I thought Louisa had mentioned another being born. You’re up to what? Four?”

His smile turned into something brittle, “James was born three months ago, yes. Though I suppose you’re the last one that should talk. You could imagine my shock when I popped into buy a paper before I was to be at work and found you and your marriage and secret love children on every cover.”

He looked at Sam then, his smile back to the smug, smarmy thing it was when he first saw George.

“You do have to understand, with our relationship being so close, it does sting a bit to know I didn’t even enter his thoughts to tell me when he was pursuing someone. He was never so free with his affections, platonic or otherwise. It is quite… nice, to meet the person that managed to pin him down, even if I was stunned to know he did find someone.”

 _Oh,_ Sam thought, _Well. That’s what this is about._

“It’s funny you should say that, considering it’s absolutely the opposite in my experience.”

“Oh?”

“He never hesitated to show me affection in public or private. He always seemed to care so deeply for me, even when I wouldn’t give him the time of day – which, to be honest, was most of the first few months I knew him. Then again, I never tried to hide what we were, so...”

Sam shrugged. John’s smile had dropped, and instead he was looking at Samuel like he was something he’d scrape from the bottom of his boots.

“I suppose my experiences with his affections were different, for obvious reasons.”

“Yes, obviously,” Sam said, all smiles, “especially since George has never mentioned you before.” 

“The children are somewhere around, we should find them,” George smiled, sticking his hand out for a shake, “It was lovely to see you, John.”

“You too, of course.”

George put a hand to the small of Sam’s back, shoving him forward and away. He led Sam out and to the garden, away from the party. Once it was just white noise to their ears he allowed himself to slouch, his arm bringing Sam closer to him.

"The children are all upstairs in one of the games rooms, you know this." 

“I figured it would be better to pull you away before any blood was spilt on the dancefloor. Not to mention I've never seen you like that,” George murmured into his ear, “You're absolutely wretched, when you want to be.”

“Nothing I said was a lie. Also, you looked horribly uncomfortable.”

“We… it was not a pleasant end to a relationship.”

“Yes, ‘Relationship,’” Samuel raised his eyebrows, “I didn’t realize I’d be meeting an exboyfriend.”

“He’s a tory who wanted to be a politician,” George explained, sitting down at one of the benches that lined the hedgerows, “He wasn’t going to come out of the closet, and he thought I wasn’t going to come out of the closet. He was my summer tutor the year before I left for university, and the whole thing was very… Naughty, you know? Me messing about with this sexy man, 5 years my senior. Then I found out he had found himself a fianceé. I put an end to it and I’ve been chilly ever since, though he seems to think it’s a non-issue. My mother probably invited him, since she did always love him.”

“I guess it’s a good think I didn’t know who he was to you,” Sam murmured, resting his head against George’s shoulder, “I doubt it would’ve gone so smoothly.”

“You would’ve looked like a kicked puppy the entire time, I’m sure.”

Sam shook his head, “I’m going to be horrible at this whole thing aren’t I? I can’t play pretend nearly as well as you can.”

George snorted, kissing the top of his head, “No, it’s aces you can’t be a fake knobhead like this lot. And you’ll have me to make up for it, don’t worry.”

"Oh, my hero," Sam deadpanned, before he lifted his chin and pursed his lips, silently demanding a kiss. George grumbled, but pressed a kiss to Samuel’s mouth, making him giggle. He did it again, then on his forehead, his nose twice, both cheeks, and then again on his forehead. He tugged him so Samuel was straddling his thighs, his hands giving his arse a squeeze. They were making out like teenagers, in a palace rose garden with half the ruling class of Britain just feet away, and the thought made Samuel’s head spin a little. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” Sam breathed, “Or do you not know how to get away without anyone making a scene?”

“Staff entrance is around the side,” George grinned, kissing the side of his neck, “I can have you upstairs and naked before anyone even notices we’re gone.”

“Brilliant,” Samuel grinned, “Let’s go.”

 

 

When Charlotte woke up the following morning she was alone. Freddie was gone from the bed next to her own, the covers already made up. 

Charlotte shoved herself out of bed, stretching as she stood. She frowned at the pile of clothes that weren’t her own on the bench at the foot of the bed, picking through the sweater, socks and jeans she knew probably cost more than her entire closet back home.

Once she was dressed and brushed her teeth and hair, she went on the search for Freddie, knowing that was her best shot for finding something to do.

She was shocked when she entered the sitting room they had been sequestered to the pervious night to find her grandmother there. Augusta’s eyebrows raised when she saw her.

“Charlotte, yes?” she asked, her German accent catching on the beginning of her name.

“Oh, um,” she flailed her hands a little helplessly, “I was looking for my brother. I figured he might be here, since this is the only room in the place we were allowed in last night.”

“Yes, well, I can’t help you there. He probably went for breakfast.” There was a beat of awkward silence, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Okay.”

She entered the sitting room and stiffly settling in on the sofa. Augusta went for the tea service herself, ignoring the maid who had stepped forward to do it for her.

“I take it with a little milk and two sugars,” She explained, her voice soft as she used German for the first time in awhile, “Unless it’s earl grey, then only one sugar.”

Augusta blinked at her, pausing with the tea pot still in hand, “You speak German?”

“Yeah,” Charlotte shrugged, taking the offered cup of tea from her grandmother’s hands, “Dad always spoke it to us as babies and stuff, so me and Freddie both know it. Papa can speak a little too, but not that well. His Spanish is nearly perfect though. And I really want to learn French, and think Russian would be kinda cool too,” She nodded to the embroidery hoop in her lap, “What are you working on?”

Augusta shook her head a little, unsure what to make of the rapid fire mind of a nine year old who had no filter. “It’s just a simple thing. A wall hanging, more than likely.”

“That’s beautiful,” Charlotte said, a little in awe of the intricate stitching, “Can I see?”

She handed the hoop over, as Charlotte studied the intricate, interwoven flowers and vines surrounding a bright blue peacock.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“My mother. She loved to do it to pass the time. It’s old fashioned – very old fashioned, honestly – but there is something to be said for holding up traditions.”

“Do any of my Aunts do it?”

“No,” Augusta shook her head, taking a sip from her cup, “Louisa showed some interest, but her eyesight being what it is, it was too hard for her. The rest of my girls where far more interested in sports or music to sit with their old mother and learn what is essentially a dead art.”

Her fingers ran over the bright red, orange, and purple blooms. 

“Could- Could you teach- I mean, if it’s not trouble…” She trailed off, suddenly feeling very shy, her German awkward in her mouth, “I mean, it’s my family tradition too, so it would be nice to know how?”

For the first time since they had met, Augusta smiled at Charlotte, openly pleased.

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George was really born in Norfolk House, and though it no longer exists it's music room interior is at the V&A museum. Mary and Thomas Howard owned it at the time of his birth. Worksop house really did burn to the ground and Mary redesigned the hell out of it, though the work was abandoned when their nephews (and heirs) died.
> 
> Phillip, Kitty, and JJ (John Junior) were (some of) John Barker Church and Angelica's real life kids. 
> 
> John Stewart, third earl of Bute was one of the George's favorites. He was good friends with Prince Frederick and became George's tutor sometime after his death. He was an opportunist, basically, and used his influence on George to get what he wanted to the point of becoming Prime Minister, while criticizing him anonymously in pamphlets. George got rid of him as a confidant when he found out. He also attempted to tax the shit out of Hard Cider in the UK, which has been compared to the Stamp Act. There were riots in Cornwall and Devon when it went down, since they would be hit hardest, and the whole thing plummeted his public opinion to the point that he resigned as PM. Also, the reason we have the fourth amendment worded the way we do is because of the warrants he issued to suppress anti-John Stewart publications.
> 
> It was actually rumored that John was having an affair with George's mother Augusta, but since I aged him down in an attempt to give George friends his own damn age (seriously, all that idiot had were people 20+ years older than him) I gave him to George instead. The affair was bullshit though, as John was absolutely against adultery and had a happy marriage. She did try to have them reconnect as friends in real life though.


End file.
